Turn to Stone
by AllegroSilver
Summary: Song!fic based loosely off of Ingrid Michealson's Turn to Stone. A prequel to Hide and Seek. Loki can't seem to stay away from Stark Tower. When he comes, Tony is surprised to find he enjoys every second, craves every moment of the god. But whatever is between them, when the sun rises, Loki denies. But maybe there is something more than meaningless sex.


**A/N ** _Hey guys, This is a prequel (only because of the order it was written in I suppose) to Hide and Seek, however, it can also serve as a stand alone piece, the same as Hide and Seek. It has been edited down for appropriateness for this site. If you really want the dirty stuff (which isn't much more than there is here but is decidedly not okay on this site) let me know and I can see what I can do for you. Its mostly beta-ed aside from the cuts and changes I have made and so I apologize, the mistakes are mine. Have fun, and happy Frostiron!_

Turn to Stone

The reflection in the mirror was not one he wanted to see. Purple circled his eyes, skin beaded with sweat, and as Tony Stark raised a cloth to wipe the blood from a cut along his hairline, he sighed. The hero couldn't recall the last time he had slept more than a handful of hours, and it was starting to effect his performance with the Avengers; his battered body served as a painful reminder. With a loud, defeated groan, Tony collapsed onto the side of his tub, resting his head in his hands, hoping the jagged cut would stop bleeding soon.

As his mind started to drift and his eyes closed, Tony could feel cool fingers ghosting across his jaw. "I can fix that." The voice shot icy fear through his veins and forced him to his feet. The sudden movement left the scientist's head reeling and he staggered, sagging against the hard, cold body of the man that stood before him.

"Careful," Loki chuckled darkly, his velvety voice dancing over Tony's skin, carrying with it a shiver of what certainly would not be and could not be lust. Those same cool fingers, long and sinfully elegant, grazed across his cheek and gently removed the hand holding the cloth against the gash.

Tony's stomach twisted and his eyes snapped open, ignoring the way the room spun around him. "What are you-" He was silenced by a long finger that pressed against his lips, drifting away to trace absently the line of his mouth. The hero choked and fell helplessly silent. Cool, unfamiliar lips pressed against the sticky mess on his forehead, drawing a hiss from Tony's lips, hands rising to push against the super-villain's chest. Whatever was happening, Tony was not okay with it, despite what the tightening in his jeans seemed to say.

When Loki did pull away, his tongue darted out to lick away the traces of blood that had clung to his lips, a sharp smile burning in his emerald gaze. "Better?" Tony could feel his knees threaten to give way. Several seconds passed before the shorter man rediscovered his voice.

"B-better?" Tony cursed himself for his inability to form a coherent thought, perhaps something along the lines of _why the fuck are you here? _Again, those long fingers brushed against his skin, over his forehead, and the scientist was surprised to find there was no pain; in fact, even the throbbing had seemed to have been mostly resolved. "What did you-"

Hard fingers wrapped around his chin, lifted his face so that he was forced to meet the god's piercing gaze. "I need you." The rough, aching want sounded foreign on the god's silver tongue.

Fingers turned to lead against his chin, jerked his head back and a hot wet mouth latched to the column of his throat. Tony grunted, the hands he had pressed desperately against the god's chest fell away and he was left breathless and hopelessly at mercy of the god's embrace. The fabled silver tongue flicked out, trailing wet lines down this throat, teeth closing possessively over his collar bone and for a moment, Tony wondered if the silver-tongued trickster had earned his name through more than wit.

"I crave you." This time, the desire came against his skin, a desperate moan as the hero's traitorous hands rose and tangled themselves in silken black hair.

"Loki." His name tasted of ice and magic, a name that he had only ever shouted in rage, or bit out in sarcasm, now dripped from his lips as the sweetest of nectar. The name, it seemed, served as some sort of final blow, breaking a dam that had held the god in respectful reserve. Hands tore desperately at clothes, stopping only when they met the arc reactor. Slowly, they danced around it, drawing concentric circles that stood Tony's hair on end until finally, the god spoke again.

"Mine." He hissed choosing to ignore, or perhaps relishing the snarl of pain that tore from his partner's lips as Loki pressed him hard into the handle of the bathroom door. "Perhaps somewhere softer then?" His lips brushed against Tony's ear, tongue seeking out the curved shell, tracing its inner swirl.

Tony's stomach clenched and lurched, head reeling as he felt the familiar cushion of his bed rise under his back. Hands sliding to the trickster's cheeks, he held his face aloft, awe-struck. "You..teleported." The wicked smirk that twisted across Loki's face sent Tony's heart into a painful dance, stealing his breath away.

"Of course. I could hardly resist the way your flesh quivers under my touch a second longer than necessary, Anthony." Any hope of snark stuck in Tony's throat, choking him, only relieved by the press of the god's lips to his stomach, exploring the hard plains of his muscles, venturing toward his hips and ending with a soft kiss on his pelvis. "You are mine, Anthony Stark. It would serve you well to remember." The words stung as they were whispered into his skin, raising gooseflesh that disappeared under the elastic of his shorts.

"Oh my god," Tony managed, hands closing white-knuckled around Loki's arms, eyes closed tightly against the onslaught of friction the god's entrance had brought.

"Yes," came the strangled reply, "Yes I am."

When the two managed to roll away from each other, Tony was surprised, but not all together angry, to say the fairly expensive bed linens under him had been shredded thoroughly beyond recognition, and both men were sticky with sweat and cum. The large room thick with the heady haze of sex, they drifted to sleep side by side and, somehow, painfully alone.

When Tony next awoke, he was appalled to find the offending red numbers of the clock beside his bed flashing 3:18. Groaning softly, flinging an arm over his eyes, he struggled to return to sleep, to the strange, wonderful dream he had been having about a certain Aesir. The sound of cloth against skin dragged the hero once more from his sleepy stupor, and reluctantly, Tony pushed himself upright. The shadowy vestige of Loki stood silhouetted against a large window, turned as if to leave the warmth and comfort of the bedroom. "Where are you going?" Tony grumbled from under the blankets.

The dark head turned, green eyes catching the light, glinting dangerously in the darkness. "Let us take a better look at this, shall we Stark?" The cool, sharp voice that ran through the night now, could not have been the same as that which had called his name, caressed him so carefully and brought him to his peak only hours before. "This encounter is far beyond your storybooks, this is no fairytale and I am no prince with whom you can ride away. This was nothing, do you understand me Stark? Nothing. It would be wise to forget I was ever here." And with that, the shadow was gone.

Tony woke for the second time that day, after the sun had risen and warmed the room in a far more virtuous manner than the room had been warmed the night previously. The hero was surprised to find his private rooms, where he so often fled to escape the hounding media or the stares of his teammates, felt cavernous and empty without the whispered desires of a god to keep him company.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks to months and Tony began to fear something had happened to the mischievous god that had become quite the thorn in the Avengers' sides. The fear had nearly reached its zenith, Tony ready to confront Thor with his worries, when the alarm sounded through the tower and the assembly began. The weight of the suit felt comfortable, everything felt right in the suit, almost as if Tony really had taken Loki's advice and forgotten their encounter had ever happened, but even the suit could not quell the sharp flash of hope that the alarm was calling him to Loki.

The scene when Tony arrived should have been worrisome, at the very least, annoying, however, the sight of the god clad in leather pulled his heart into his throat. Focus elsewhere, the suit dipped for a moment before the hero was able to gather himself and reset his course to join his teammates.

Already, Central Park was beginning to look like a war zone, trees lay up-rooted and shattered into twigs, the ground was ripped open in gaping wounds, benches demolished, walkways turned to dust. Had a few bodies been lying among the destruction, Tony could have sworn he was back in Afghanistan, perhaps with more greenery. In the middle of it all, the god of chaos stood, hands raised, glowing green. The air hummed with electricity and even Thor's mane of golden perfection was beginning to stand on end.

The com crackled to life and Tony sighed, another of caps plans, none of which seemed particularly effective against this particular villain.

"_Iron Man, we need you to keep him busy, think you can handle it? We're coming in from behind."_

_ "You got it, Capsicle."_Tony could almost hear the grimace through the communicator, this at least sated him enough that he would actually follow the command. Even without looking, Tony could feel the rest of his team slip away, leaving him alone with a god who could probably, with less than a flick of the wrist, flatten him into dust.

"Your friends put enough faith in that armor that they would dare leave you with me?" His voice was cold, devoid of any of the warmth Tony had managed to remember, and still, his breath caught.

"Well you've needed no help proving that your tricks can't do much to me with this in the way. I would say I'm doing pretty good; you, on the other hand...I've got to hand it to ya', the leather's pretty hot, but it's not much in the way of protection." The display beeped, temperatures had dropped several degrees around them and before Tony managed to shoot another remark toward Loki, he found himself hurtling backward, a loud clang echoing around the two men as the suit hit the ground and crumpled with the force. "Damn, Reindeer Games, you don't really understand how to play nice with toys, do you?"

Tony's struggle to rise was stopped by the tip of a familiar scepter pressed against the suit, green eyes glittered dangerously and a cold sneer twisted across Loki's beautiful face. "This may not work as it did on Agent Barton, but I can still rip this suit to pieces and tear you apart, _Stark._ You best mind your tongue."

Had anyone bothered to ask later, what he had been thinking, Tony would have been unable to answer, but as it was, the iron mask folded away from his face, allowing the man beneath to lock eyes with the god for the first time since their night spent wrapped in each other.

The scepter vanished, the anger softened on porcelain skin and green eyes seemed to plead, _Help me._ His thin, rose-petal lips quivered, twitching up into a painful half-smile.

"Loki." Tony reached for the man above him, aching to touch him again, hoping to lose himself in the electric scent of power and earth. The world seemed to fade away for a moment, the broken remains of the beloved park melted into a fog and the two were alone, hardly breathing.

Hands wrapped around Loki's arm, a hammer to the back of his head, denting the golden helmet, and the Liesmith crumpled in Tony's arms. The hero couldn't help the cry of pain that forced its way up his throat as the body in his arms became dead weight.

"I am sorry, Brother," came Thor's gruff apology. Lifting Loki from Tony's half embrace, he slung his brother over his shoulder and took to the sky.

"Where's he going?" It felt like a piece of him had been ripped away. Tony watched the two Aesir disappear, sickened by the guilt coiling in his gut.

"Back to S.H.E.I.L.D." Steve rested his hand lightly on Tony's shoulder, "The Director believes he has found a way to keep Loki from breaking out." Nodding dimly, the scientist offered an excuse to return to the tower, unsure what it was he was planning to do on his return. The remaining Avengers watched his escape nervously, eying the broken, sparking back of yet another ruined suit.

Most of the suit had been so damaged and deformed, Tony had been forced to manually remove a better part of the armor, a task he had always hated and, instead of sinking onto his bed to wallow in certainly not self-pity, the former weapons-maker spent hours ripping the metal from around his body.

"Fuck Loki," He grumbled as he finally collapsed into the softness of his mattress. Bruises lined his spine, already black and throbbing with pain. Frustrated, Tony pulled himself toward his pillows, resting on his stomach, "Fuck Loki, and fuck S.H.E.I.L.D., I hate this." The scientist nearly jumped out of his skin as cold fingers began to trace the dark bruises that marred his back.

"I would much prefer it if I were the only one you fucked, Stark." Tony groaned. His voice sounded like silk, felt like it sliding across his naked skin.

"I thought you were at S.H.E.I.L.D.," Tony whimpered, arching carefully into Loki's icy touch, "I thought Thor-"

"Shh, no prison can keep me from what I want, Anthony." Lips descended onto his back, drawing a snarl of pain from the Iron Man. "I can fix that," Loki murmured against his skin, tongue sliding out to dance over the dark bruises, devouring them until the tanned, muscled back was once again clear and glistening with sweat and saliva.

Already hard and quivering with lust, Tony rolled onto his back, sliding his fingers over the god's chest, marveling at its perfection. "It's like you were cut from marble. Fuck, you're perfect, Loki." Hands curling around biceps, the scientist rolled atop the trickster, lowing his head to taste the alabaster flesh. The god's magic buzzed against his lips, bit pleasantly at his tongue and sent a shock straight to his groin. "Fuck," he groaned, teeth closing around Loki's shoulder.

"Gladly." The room spun as Tony once more lost the fight for dominance, and Loki sank deep inside of him. His back arched, pleading for more, begging to take all of Loki and hold him there forever.

The two men clung to each other as pleasure crested and broke, names screamed into the darkness. Fingers turned to claws and bit into flesh, marking territory. Bodies ached and the two continued long into the night, stopping only when they could no longer move for exhaustion and they slept, wrapped in each other, fingers knitted together, clinging to the one thing in the world that could keep them from becoming nothing more than empty stone.

Again, Tony awoke before the sun rose to find Loki's shadow hovering in the doorway, ready to leave, though now his head was turned, watching as Tony rose struggling to drag himself off the bed. The floor was cold on his feet, hard and unforgiving as he approached the god, reached for his hands and swallowed his pride. "Stay with me," he whispered, his voice cracking and popping desperately, "Stay and maybe...maybe we won't feel so alone tonight. Loki, please." Loki hesitated, for just a moment, a moment when those hands twitched and latched onto the shorter man's, giving in to the plea.

"No," he rasped, "This is nothing. This can only ever be nothing." And once again, he was gone. Tony slumped to the floor, not quite sure what to do any longer. For the first time in his life, Tony Stark went to bed with a clear head. He was in love with Loki Laufeyson. His heart swelled, and suddenly he felt too big to fit his bed, he felt as if everything was pressing down around him, and everything was drifting far from his grasp. He was in love with Loki Laufeyson, and Loki didn't love him back.

The week following Loki's second rejection did not treat the billionaire well. More often then not, Tony sat hunched at his work bench, a useless gadget in his hands, just staring, watching the heavy, gray wall before him, mindless of Jarvis' reminders to eat, ignoring Pepper's calls. He was Tony _fucking_ Stark, dammit, and no one, not even a god, turned him down.

When the alarm sounded through the tower that was slowly becoming the Avenger's Tower, much to Tony's distaste, the inventor shot out of his seat, not at all hoping the danger on the end of the line was a particularly hormonal and lust-crazed god.

The scene, when Tony arrived, was rather grim. Dr. Doom's army seemed to have the upper hand, attacking from over the Hudson river, bottle-necking the rest of the Avengers in a small, defenseless area; even Natasha was beginning to look a little worse for wear. As usual, Hawkeye had scaled the nearest building, loosing arrows that effectively took out only small numbers of the Doombot army. Sparking mechanical husks littered the ground around the Captain and Black Widow, and, ever from Tony's view high above their heads, he could see their chests heaving. This was not good.

"_Cap, I'm heading out over the water, see if I can pick a few off before they get to you.__"_ Anticipating the negative response, Tony quickly shut down the com, blocking any incoming signals and headed toward the incoming Doombots.

Even with the suit that of course does most of the work, Tony could feel himself getting tired. He could feel the armor grow heavier, his breath becoming labored. It had been hours longer than it should have been to stop Doom's attack.

A sharp shock explodes across Tony's chest, he watches the HUD flicker, can hear Jarvis crackle and go silent, and suddenly, he is filled with cold dread. The metal is heavy, he can't move, and even though he is screaming for help, for any of his team, for Jarvis, for Pepper, he knows no one can hear him, he is stuck in the dark suit, unseeing, alone, and silent.

Tony feels the moment of impact, feels the water give way under the Iron Man suit, and he can feel himself sinking like a rock, drifting to the bottom of the bay where, when his oxygen supply runs out, he will die in his self-made tomb. Seconds pass; he's alone.

_Sir?_ The HUD flickers back to life, he can hear the team calling for him, Jarvis is babbling something Tony could care less about, and he is scrambling to remove the mask, to breathe, to be free. The mask lifts and water rushes in, into his nose, down his throat, blurs his vision, and everything is cold.

_His body is shaking, everything, his bones, his skin, everything aches like he has been run over, like he has thrown himself against a wall, like he has fallen and some how survived the crushing impact. But it is not any of those things, it is worse. So much worse. And he is screaming, "I can't. I won't. Please." He's not sure what he's asking for anymore. It just needs to stop. It has to stop. If it doesn't stop he knows he will die. "Please," he begs. Tony Stark begs. He will always beg. He will do anything they want. "Please, I will do anything. Please, make it stop. Please."_

The water feels like fingers, icy fingers, reaching around him, squeezing. _He can't breathe, he will never breathe again. Anything to make this stop. Please, God, let him die._

_ "-ron Man! Tony! Tony are you there? Answer me! Tony!"_ He can hear Steve. Steve who isn't in Afghanistan, Steve who won't be found for another year. Steve who sounds so close, who sounds so worried. "Tony, come on Tony! Stop it! STOP! Thor, hold him down!" Tony's head his spinning; huge, warm hands wrap around his arms, still swiping, and pin him in place.

"Man of Iron. Cease this now, the Bots-of-Doom have been vanquished. We must return to the dining hall and feast our victory this night." Tony stills. Thor. Thor is here, and Thor makes him remember the one person, the only person - who is not really a person at all - in the known worlds and every world unknown, who might ever understand why he feels the way he does.

"Loki." Thor's massive fists tighten around his arms and Tony winces, his bones creaking.

"What of my brother, Man of Iron? Has he done this to you?" The inventor shutters, brown eyes glassy, unseeing, and he can feel himself begin to sweat. Tony shakes his head and this seems to settle the giant pinning him to the ground. "Wonderful!" Thor booms and a frightened whimper manages to squeeze its way from Tony's lips, drowned out by the god's joy.

Still too shaken to return to the tower unaided, Tony is lifted into the jet and flown back with the others. When they land of his roof, he quickly assures the Avengers that he is fine, just a bit sore from the fall, and stumbles blindly inside, letting the suit peal away before he sinks onto his bed, curls tight around himself and allows hot tears to spill onto his cheeks.

Tony knows he's been curled on his bed for several days, maybe longer, when Pepper begins to visit, leaving trays of food to be untouched alongside his bed, and returns only to take away exactly what she had given him. It becomes hard to tell when he is dreaming or when he is awake. Everything is dark, everything is filled with fear, and he feels sick. He thinks he is sleeping now, but it hurts too much to be anything but real.

_He can't see well. His eyes won't open more than a few millimeters, and that is enough. His chest is open, he thinks, or it is being ripped apart. White-hot pain radiates from his sternum and he screams until his throat is so raw no sound comes out, and he screams more. Tears burn in the open wounds on his face. Something is being forced into the hole in his chest and he hardly cares because it feels as if is heart is being squeezed and pulled and torn into pieces. He can't breathe, and there is a thing in his chest that shouldn't be there. _

He awakens, screaming, his fingers wrapping around the arc reactor and he is pulling, clawing, ripping at the scar tissue that has formed there. That thing which is in his chest but shouldn't be begins to slide free and the pain starts again, white hot and tight, and he is struggling to breathe.

"Stark! Stop it. Stark! Anthony!" There is silence followed by cool fingers pressing against his, pushing the device back into his chest. "Tony," the voice croons, "Please."

The tightness moves from his chest to his throat and more tears threaten to spill over. Tony is scared, worried that they will burn the maybe-cuts on his face. He has to be dreaming now, it feels too good. The long, cool body shifts beside him and raven locks spill over his chest before sliding lower, thin lips pressing a kiss against the arc reactor. "I can fix that."

Tony asks for everything, Loki gives him everything he wants and asks for nothing in return. They sleep, wrapped so tightly in each others' arms that they stop trying to tell where one stops and the other begins. The inventor awakens sometimes, whimpering into the darkness until Loki stirs, tightens his arms around the man lying on his chest, and whispers ancient songs into his ear as he sinks back to sleep.

3:18 and Tony wakes, trembling, afraid the god beside him, the man he loves, will leave him once more. His hands tighten into desperate claws and dig into Loki's shoulders, leaving small bruises. "Please, please stay. Please don't leave me. Not tonight, leave tomorrow. Please." Tony begs. Tony Stark will always beg. "Please stay."

Loki smiles a warm, quiet smile that Tony knows few others have ever witnessed. "Always," he murmurs, lips ghosting across his hair. Tony settles back into sleep, presses his lips against the hollow of the god's throat and smiles.

"I love you."

Tony awakens that morning, and every morning after in the arms of the only god he will ever believe in. They hold each other, and smile and sometimes they explore each other, hands gliding over skin, pressing deep into one another as if only one more inch and everything would be okay.

When they rise, they cook together, dancing wildly around each other in the kitchen, catching stray glances that should have been secret, filled with so much pain, so much want, it burns.

There is a morning, after a night when Tony does not wake and Loki watches him sleeping, smiling and safe, that they don't make breakfast. Instead, they rest on the couch, legs wrapped together, hands wrapped around cups of coffee, each watching the other as if there is nothing else in the world more beautiful than the man before him. They know something is different today. Tony can see it in Loki's eyes, Loki knows, he has known all along.

It never ceases to amaze the inventor how such a large, loud man could be so quiet in his approach. "Brother." Tony can feel his heart shutter to a stop at the loud booming voice, his eyes widen, searching for surprise or fear in Loki's eyes, and finds none.

"No!" He roars, throwing himself toward the lanky god, seeing him twitch, ready to rise. "No!" He clings to him desperately, tears threatening. Not here, not in front of Thor. "I wont let you touch him!" He wheels on Thor, vibrating with fear, with desperation.

Calmly, the trickster pulls the mortal man's hands from around him, plants a soft kiss on his forehead and sighs. "Tony," he sighs heavily. "We always knew-"

"No!" Tony knows he is beyond reason, and curses himself. He is a man of science, of reason. It is disgraceful, what he is doing now. "You promised Loki! You _swore_! You...you...liar!" He sees how deep this wound is. He wonders if he could ever fix it. _I can fix that. _His heart shatters. Tony can see the way those pale, sinful hands tremble as they reach for Tony and, childishly, he shrinks away.

"You of all people know how we must atone for our actions, Anthony. You have done that. And now, now it is my turn." His angular face looks pained, like he actually cares. But Tony can't be sure; he is in love with the god of lies.

_ He laughs. "I don't know where your people heard that from. The God of Mischief, the God of Fire, yes. Never of lies."_

Tony shutters, "I love you." He hates how pained he sounds, how desperate and angry. He doesn't need this, he doesn't need Loki. He doesn't know how to love. Tony Stark does not have a heart.

Loki flinches, steels himself, pulls his mask down hard. "You and I both knew this could never be anything." He hates how cold he sounds, how empty and uncaring.

"I-..I know I am nothing new to you, I know...please I-...please." Tony is begging again. Tony Stark will always beg.

"There is so much more than you and I, Anthony. A foolish mortal like you could never understand." Loki feels sick. Tony will never forgive him. "Goodbye, Anthony Stark." Loki strides across the room, elegant like the prince he was, and always will be. He grabs hold of his brother's arm and they are gone, leaving behind only a green mist.

Tony could swear he heard something, as the god left. _I love you_ echoes around the penthouse, and he knows it is a trick, because he is alone, and he doesn't care. Tony Stark has no heart, it has turned to stone.


End file.
